


In Winter

by SapphireSoul102



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Making Up, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1615451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireSoul102/pseuds/SapphireSoul102





	1. Prologue

Wintertime in London; snow fell from the gray sky, blanketing the city in a layer of white wonder. Arthur sipped his tea and gazed outside his kitchen window at the snowy scene. He sighed deeply. Today was the world meeting, where all the countries gather to discuss nonsensical rubbish. Arthur always hated it, and it was arranged to take place in London, in the dead of winter, of all times. If only he knew what was going to aspire at said meeting, he would’ve stayed home...


	2. Broken

_This… this just can’t be happening. Why would he… my sweet Alfred… no… no… oh, God, I need a drink…_ Arthur’s mind rambled as he choked back a waterfall of tears. The poor Brit had just witnessed the betrayal of his once loyal colony. During the world conference meeting, Arthur noticed something as he walked out of the room; Francis had Alfred with his back against the wall, their lips only inches apart.

The mere sight of this made Britain’s stomach go sour. He bolted the other way before their lips met. Waterworks welled up in his emerald green eyes as he left the building. Bitter tears spilled down his cheeks. He left the building a broken man.

The thought of Francis taking Alfred home was enough to make him wretch and scream and cry. He headed down to the nearest pub to drown his emotions in alcohol. Several shots of throat-scorching liquor numbed the emotional agony just a bit, but Arthur knew that nothing could truly soothe the pain of his broken heart

~~~~~

“Arthur? Hey, dude, what are you doing here? It took me like, _forever_ to find you!” Even in his drunken state he instantly recognized that cheerful voice. England raised his head and rubbed his eyes, still red from crying. “A-Alfred? Why are you—?” Arthur stopped when he looked at America’s face, and a fresh flood of tears threatened to pour down his cheeks. His sweet Alfred had been soiled by that lecherous frog France, but his face still glowed with boyish happiness.

The young sandy blonde smiled and put a hand on the Brit’s shoulder. “I’m here cause’ I wanted to ask you something…” Alfred noticed the several empty shot glasses in front of Arthur. His brow furrowed with concern as he continued, nervously scratching the back of his head. “Well, I uh, was wondering if I could hang out at your place tonight…”

Arthur’s heart throbbed with sadness and longing for America, but the alcohol coursing through his body made him even more snappy and defensive than usual. “Why don’t you just stay with that bloody wretch France? You two seem to get along quite well…” England hissed as he hailed the bartender for another shot of liquor. Alfred frowned and grabbed the Brit’s wrist before he could gulp it down.

“What the hell are you talking about dude? And don’t have any more. You’re already drunk out of your mind.” The drunken blonde scowled and jerked out of Alfred’s grasp. “Oh, shut up, you twit.” He raised the glass once more but Alfred slapped it out of his hand. The small glass shattered on the floor and the amber liquid pooled in the cracks of the floorboards. All eyes were on them.

The bar went almost silent as tension sparked between the two. “What the bloody hell was that for, you arse?!” Arthur cursed. His flashing emerald green eyes were met by blazing sapphires. Alfred’s lighthearted demeanor had disappeared. _Wow, he’s actually serious,_ England scoffed at the thought. “We’re leaving. _Now_.”

America glared at England for a few moments of tense silence, but he just couldn’t keep a straight face as he chided the trashed Brit. “If you don’t get your drunken ass off that barstool right now,” he threatened, “I’ll just have to carry you out of here.” Alfred smirked triumphantly. Arthur narrowed his eyes and grinned. “You wouldn’t dare,” he challenged.

“Oh, really?” Alfred smiled and Arthur sighed with relief that he was back to normal. The loud chatter in the bar continued as the pair of blondes smirked at each other. Then all of a sudden, Alfred scooped Arthur into his arm, kicked the door open like the badass mofo he was, and casually strolled out of the bar with a victorious grin on his face.

“Aw, man, it’s still snowing?” Alfred blinked up at the pale gray sky, shrugged, and continued walking. The intoxicated Brit offered some protest, but he soon gave in and let Alfred carry him home, grumbling profanities under his breath.

The pair received odd stares as Alfred cheerily strolled along with a cranky Brit in his arms. The younger of the two couldn’t care less about the attention they attracted, but Arthur wanted to crawl under a rock. Of course Alfred just _had_ to carry him bridal style. “God, this is so ridiculous…” he muttered into Alfred’s chest, clutching the American’s jacket. The American laughed and playfully nuzzled his nose in Arthur’s soft blonde hair before shifting his grip on the intoxicated Briton.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be all pissy about it. I couldn’t just leave you there. You can’t even walk!” Arthur snorted in objection, but Alfred was right. His legs felt numb and his chest ached. Then for no apparent reason, an unwelcomed vision of Francis and Alfred popped into his head. He quivered with sadness and disgust.

America cocked his head and frowned at the trembling Brit. He gently set England down, holding him up until he was steadied on his feet. “A-Alfred? Why did you stop?” Arthur shut his eyes as a flurry of snowflakes surrounded his body, making him shiver. He felt a soft warmth envelop him. The drunk blonde opened his eyes and saw Alfred, who had taken off his favorite bomber jacket and wrapped it around Arthur’s shoulders. “Here, dude. You need this more than I do.” Alfred smiled sweetly and Britain simply melted, speechless.

As silly as America was most of the time, talking about how he’s a hero and everything, he really was a kindhearted guy. “Alfred…” he cooed, longing to reach out and caress his face, but he was still angry and sick with alcohol. “Uh, thanks…” he glanced away, wrapping himself tight with Alfred’s soft jacket. After a few wobbly steps, Alfred wrapped his arm around the Brit’s shoulders to help steady him, and the two continued on their way.

“Hey, Arthur? Why did you go to that pub in the first place? I thought you quit binge drinking,” he sounded worried. England sighed, his breath making a puff of white fog that vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Because… I saw…” he tried to swallow the sadness welling up inside, but it still appeared in his voice, “you… and _France_ …” he spat bitterly. The intoxicated blonde looked away, afraid he would start bawling again.

Alfred blinked and thought for a moment before he burst into laughter. “Haha! You mean in the hallway, right?” Arthur cringed at the memory. “Yes…” America’s grin widened. “Oh, dude, that was just a joke! You should’a seen the look on his face! He really thought I’d let him kiss me! Haha, what a creep!” America laughed heartily.

Arthur just stood there, his expression changing from despair to anger. His eyebrow twitched with rage. “So… you’re saying that I got _drunk_ all because of a stupid _prank_?!” he snarled, nostrils flared, emerald eyes blazing. England was pissed and America knew it, he just didn’t know why. Remorse was written on his face.

“Arthur, I—” he paused when it finally clicked in his head. His bright blue eyes widened with the realization of why the older nation was so upset. The truly emotional side of America emerged, choosing his apologetic words carefully. “I… I’m so sorry, Arthur. It was just a stupid joke. I didn’t mean to… I just… I didn’t know… that you cared so much…” Alfred gently wiped a tear rolling down the Brit’s reddened cheek.

He sniffled and scowled at the young blonde, but his heart melted as he looked into those crystal blue eyes. Arthur knew that his apology was sincere, but he was still pissed off. “Of course I care about you, you git! I always have! I l—” England choked on the words before they slipped out, but Alfred knew what he was about to say. His heart almost stopped.

“Arthur…?” he whispered, the heat of his words condensing in the frigid air. “Do you really…?” America looked into England’s aqueous emerald eyes, searching for an answer, but the emotionally spent Brit just chewed his bottom lip before turning away and walking towards home. America’s jacket was still wrapped around him, and its owner wasn’t far behind. Alfred desperately wanted to wrap his arms around the smaller nation and hold him forever, but he decided to wait until the right moment.

The two walked together in seemingly peaceful silence, but the tension between them was unnerving to poor Alfred. He attempted to hold Arthur’s hand, but the intoxicated Brit simply jerked away and walked faster. The younger nation looked up to the snowy sky and sighed; this was going to be a _long_ night.

After an agonizingly cold and silent ten minute walk, they reached their destination. England fiddled with his keys until he found the one that opened his front door. He practically stumbled inside and went to close the door, but the now shivering young American was still behind him. Arthur simply stared, his expression unreadable.

He had almost forgotten that his former colony had followed him home for the night. For a moment, while walking home through the falling snow, he truly believed it was all a dream. That America hadn’t accidentally broken his heart… “Uhm, Arthur? Are you gonna let me in, dude?” Alfred chuckled nervously, afraid the testy Brit would slam the door in his face.

Arthur sighed and muttered something under his breath before holding the door open for the sandy blonde nation to enter. He was not in the mood to deal with America’s ignorant stupidity at the moment. _Well, he can’t go home in this blizzard anyway…_ he thought, glancing at Alfred as he locked the door behind him.

_I hope it’s over by tomorrow… I just can’t deal with this right now…_ Arthur’s head throbbed in time with his pulse. It felt as though all the agony and sadness of the day was pounding against his skull, begging to escape and be forgotten. He hung up his and the American’s snow-covered jacket and went to the kitchen for some tea.

He hadn’t even filled the kettle when he heard a familiar voice beckoning him. “Hey, Arthur?” America called, his teeth chattering. England rolled his eyes and went to see what the younger nation wanted. He found America curled up under a blanket on the couch. His frosted shirt was on the floor, the melting snow making a puddle and seeping into the carpet. England sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is it, Alfred?”

Alfred smiled sheepishly at the angry Brit, “can you get me something hot to drink? I’m so cold…” England noticed how badly America shook and how red his nose and ears were. _He let you wear his jacket and freezed his ass off for you, at least get him a drink…_ Arthur silently reproached himself. “Sure, Alfred.” England knew exactly what to get for the shivering, spectacled blonde. Hot apple cider. It was America’s favorite drink when he was young, and England smiled at the sweet memories it held. He decided against the tea and got them each a cup.

Arthur came back with two mugs of hot apple cider, each adorned with a dollop of whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon. Alfred sniffed the air and grinned widely when the sweet scent of the cider reached his nostrils. “Oh, wow, Arthur! Is that—”

“Yes, luv,” he interrupted with a smile. “Did you really think I’d forgotten your favorite?” Alfred reached out for the mug and held it with both hands like a child. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet, spicy aroma. The shivering blonde lifted the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip to test the temperature, then gulped down a large mouthful.

Alfred practically swooned with pleasure and happiness while the Brit watched him, a warm smile on his face. He sat on the couch with Alfred and raised the mug to his lips when a sharp pain pulsed from his temple. “Oh, bloody hell!” he cursed. He’d almost forgotten that he was drunk. His head throbbed from the absurd amount of alcohol in his system. “Woah, Arthur, are you okay?” Alfred was genuinely concerned. He took one more gulp and set his mug down before scooching closer to wrap his arm around the intoxicated Brit.

The blanket wrapped around the younger blonde’s shoulders slipped off when he shifted and Arthur couldn’t help but blush at the sight of shirtless Alfred. He wanted to touch the slightly toned muscles on the American’s arms and chest. He shifted away in an attempt to resist touching Alfred. All he really wanted was to be with him, but he was too afraid of being rejected to admit it. He needed to get away from Alfred so he wouldn’t have the chance to be further tempted into an act of perverse stupidity.

“I’m going to bed…” Arthur muttered as he rubbed his throbbing temples. He tried to stand up but almost immediately lost his balance and fell back into Alfred’s open arms. “Shit, dude! You can’t even walk. I’ll carry you upstairs,” Alfred insisted. They stared each other down until the Brit rolled his eyes and sighed. “Gah, fine you twit.” Arthur gave in and melted into the other man’s arms. Alfred scooped him up bridal style, just as in the pub, but this time he received no complaint. He went upstairs to Arthur’s room and gently set the drunken blonde on his bed.

“Oh, God, my head…” he groaned, quickly tugging off clothes until all that remained were his boxers. He was too tired and drunk to care about modesty. Alfred frowned and softly brushed the bangs stuck to Arthur’s damp forehead. He knew it was his fault this was happening, all because of a stupid prank and a misunderstanding. Alfred lied down next to Arthur, who said nothing and pulled the sandy blonde close. This affectionate behavior was completely unlike Arthur, and Alfred cherished every moment of it.

Alfred happily took the smaller man in his arms and held him, his head resting on Alfred’s bare chest. “Mmm… you’re so warm, Al…” the drunken Brit muttered while snuggling against the American’s body, soaking up the warmth and compassion radiating from him. Alfred smiled and he gazed at Arthur’s rosy cheeks and mussed up hair. “You look so adorable, Arthur,” he whispered, unable to hinder the ridiculous grin spreading across his face as he lied next to the man he loves.

Arthur smiled and murmured something inaudible, but it sounded like he was content. After a while he rolled onto his side and curled up, shivering slightly. Alfred got up and draped a blanket over him. “Well, goodnight Arthur… I hope you feel better,” Alfred stroked his cheek lovingly, then turned to leave the room; he stopped short when he heard a quiet, cranky grumble that was further muffled by a pillow. He knelt by the bed and brushed some hair out of the Brit’s face. 

“Did you say something, Arthur?” he whispered. “Hnhh… sleep with me, Alfred…” England replied. America’s heart started pounding. He was at a loss for words. “Arthur, I…” the young American didn’t know if it was a good idea to stay in bed with the man he secretly wanted so badly.

Arthur grumbled again, “Please, Al… you’re so warm…” he grabbed Alfred’s arm and snuggled against it. Poor Alfred just couldn’t resist. He straightened up and stripped down to his boxers. “Okay, I’ll sleep with yo— uh, I mean…” he nervously stuttered as he realized just how perverted that sounded.

“Just get in here…” the sleepy Brit insisted with a lustful smirk, pulling Alfred half on top of him with a determined and uncoordinated tug. Their faces were dangerously close together, but neither of them moved. Alfred could hardly breathe as he tried to decide if it was a good idea to kiss Arthur while he was drunk. He wanted this to be special but he madly wanted to make love to the half-naked man lying next to him.

_Oh my God…_ Their lips brushed slightly, and Arthur made a quiet moan. Alfred slunk his arm around the smaller man’s waist. He leaned in and kissed Arthur softly on the lips. The Brit trembled from the contact and let his fingertips wander across Alfred’s chest.

“Mmm, Alfred…” he whispered, moving his lips closer to Al’s. He practically tasted the pungent alcohol on his hot breath. _Dear God, I want him… but… this just isn’t right…_ Alfred made up his mind. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I just can’t…” he started to move away, but England had other ideas.

“Oh, come now, Alfred… I know you want this…” the flirty Brit egged him on, grabbing the sandy blonde’s hands to run them up and down the length of his own body. Alfred was trembling with want as Arthur continued sliding his hands across the Brit’s bare skin. When his hands came to rest on the smaller man’s bare thighs, Alfred knew it was now or never. He had to get out of there before Arthur made him do something they would both regret.

_It’s just the alcohol talking, he doesn’t really want it…_ Alfred told himself, but it was no use. He couldn’t stop thinking of how much he wanted the beautiful blonde sprawled out beneath him, licking his lips enticingly. “I gotta go,” the spectacled blonde quickly got off the bed and dashed to the bathroom to take a shower, leaving a pouting, pissy, drunken Brit in bed.

Alfred locked the bathroom door and got in the shower, letting the cool water rinse away all his passion and confusion. He felt dirty for even thinking of taking Arthur while he was drunk. Not heroic at all...

The honey-blonde American lingered in the shower for quite some time, hoping Arthur would fall asleep before he returned to the bedroom. _If_ he returned, that is; the couch was starting to become a very appealing option.

Alfred dried off, wrapped a towel around his hips, and padded down the hallway. He paused at Arthur’s bedroom door, half-closed, just as he left it. Peaking inside, he could tell the drunken Briton had fallen asleep. The room was poorly lit by the moonlight, but Alfred could still make out the silent, steady rise and fall of Arthur’s chest in the darkness. The thought of sleeping alone on the couch suddenly lost its appeal.

Alfred carefully crept into the room, water droplets falling from his damp blonde strands. Before getting into bed, he quietly rummaged through the drawers in search of clean pajama pants. They were a bit snug compared to what he was used to, which was annoying, but tolerable. Alfred placed his glasses on the bedside table and ever so gingerly got onto the bed next to Arthur.

Lying down beside the sleeping Brit made Alfred realize just how exhausted he really was. Sliding under the blanket, he draped an arm over Arthur’s side, causing the smaller blonde to stir slightly. Both men were soon sleeping peacefully together.


	3. Dream

The lustful American gazed at the Brit’s body, illuminated by the pale sunlight flooding the bedroom. The lighting was perfect. Arthur was perfect. Everything was just _fantastic_. He leaned down and kissed the lemony blonde Briton, hesitantly at first, then passion took over. How could he _not_ want this man? All sprawled out and relaxed, looking utterly ready and willing… Alfred groped the Brit’s slender body, relishing the soft skin and flesh beneath him. After a long, intense kiss they separated for air. Alfred could hardly contain himself.

“Oh God, I want you _sooo_ badly, Arthur…” he whispered in Arthur’s ear, panting heavily. The passionate words slipped out before Alfred had a chance to filter his thoughts. All reasonability had flown out the window at this point. “Oh, Alfred!” Arthur moaned and jerked his hips. Their pulsing erections pressed against each other through their boxers. Alfred couldn’t believe this was happening. He always knew he wanted Arthur, but he never realized just _how_ badly he wanted this man, and knowing that Arthur felt the same made him even more excited.

Alfred quickly tugged the Brit’s boxers off and grabbed the throbbing cock he’d secretly dreamt about for years. He pumped it a few times and gazed at it lustfully before quickly taking it in his mouth as deep as he could. Arthur moaned as the inexperienced American eagerly sucked him and fondled his balls.

“Mnhhh Arfur, jou tesft… hnghh, sew derishus…” Alfred mumbled. “Mmm, Alfred… how many times have I told you—oh God—not to talk with your mouth full… ohhh…” the blushing Brit teased, softly tugging on Alfred’s honey blonde locks, relishing the feeling of his lips wrapped around him. “Oh, God Alfred! That feels bloody amazing! Ahhhh!” he moaned, arching his back and thrusting his cock deeper in the young American’s mouth.

Alfred was so eager to please his first and only lover that he ignored the discomfort in his throat. He looked up and saw the Brit’s beautiful face cringing with pleasure. His emerald green eyes gazed down at Alfred with such endearing emotion that it made the urge to please him even stronger. All he wanted was to make Arthur happy and show how much he loved him—


	4. Cancellation

Arthur awoke first, head throbbing terribly. He felt disgustingly hot and thirsty, but at least he wasn’t drunk anymore. He didn’t even open his eyes as he attempted to roll out of bed, but something held him back. Alfred’s arm was wrapped securely around his waist, holding him.

Arthur cracked an eye open and realized he was snuggled up against Alfred, chest to chest. The sleeping American drooled on his pillow, making quiet, inappropriate noises. Arthur realized  _something_  was pressing against his hip.  _Must be dreaming…_ England thought to himself, hesitantly reaching out to touch his beloved. He lovingly stroked Alfred’s hair, running his fingers through the honey-blonde locks and forgetting how hungover he was.

Arthur ruffled the younger blonde’s hair, which startled him. Alfred made a noise and held onto the Brit tighter, fingers clutching at his body possessively. Alfred opened his eyes and realized whose emerald eyes he was gazing into.  _Wait, did we just…? Shit._ Alfred’s cheeks went bright red. Pale sunlight shone through the curtains, just like in his dream, which had left him hard as hell in reality.

“Sleep well?” Arthur asked teasingly. Alfred nodded, still blushing profusely. “I’m going to take a shower. Help yourself to breakfast.” The hungover Brit got out of bed, pulled some clothes from several drawers, then walked off to the bathroom.

Alfred sat up and put his glasses on to catch a glimpse of Arthur from the back as he walked out the door. It didn’t do much to fix his ‘problem.’ He decided to ignore it and got dressed instead, glancing at the antique clock sitting on a dresser. Only 8:23 in the morning. He went downstairs and popped some bread in the toaster before pouring himself a glass of juice.

Eating in silence, the young American could hear Arthur singing in the shower. He grinned; Arthur was an awful singer, but it was still adorable to hear him try. Alfred vaguely wondered what would become of them and their relationship after that drunk kiss, then he realized that it didn’t really matter, as he had a flight scheduled to leave at noon that day.

~~~~~

Alfred was still drinking his juice when a freshly-showered Arthur came downstairs ten minutes later, walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Arthur sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and swallowed some pills for his headache. He raised an eyebrow at the younger, spectacled blonde who unknowingly fixed his gaze upon Arthur. “The hell are you staring at?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Alfred looked away before asking, “Do you remember what happened last night?” What he really wanted to say was ‘Are you pissed at me for kissing you?’ but that seemed too blunt, even for Alfred.

Arthur sighed, a regretful look on his face. “Yes, I remember,” he looked Alfred in the eyes, “I shouldn’t have egged you on like that. It wasn’t your fault we…” Arthur trailed off at the thought of how good it felt when they kissed last night. He blinked and changed the topic to a more concerning matter. “So, what time is your flight?” Arthur asked, trying to prevent the sadness he felt from tainting his voice.

“Noon…”

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement. He sipped his tea, gazing sadly at Alfred, wishing they could just be together. “I’m going to miss you Al…” he said quietly, trying not to think of how lonely it would feel going to bed alone tonight. “Yeah…” Alfred replied, “well… I don’t _have_ to leave today…” he looked at Arthur with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, smiling, “I could stay a little longer.” The Brit frowned. “You already booked the new flight after yesterday’s one was cancelled…” Arthur didn’t want to get his hopes up, but warmth blossomed in his chest at the prospect of sharing a bed with Alfred again.

“Hold on a sec!” Alfred gulped down the last of his juice and dashed up the stairs. “What are you doing, Al?!”

“Making a call!” Arthur could hear the grin behind the young American’s voice. He was quite certain as to whom Alfred was calling, but he wanted to be sure. Arthur quietly crept up the stairs and stood outside the bedroom door, where he could hear Alfred on his cellphone. “Yes, I’m sure. Positive.” There was faint babbling coming from the other end of the call, which Arthur couldn’t make out, to which Alfred replied, “Yeah… yeah, I know— oh my God, I don’t _care_ if there’s no refund! Just do it! Ugh, no, I don’t want to book another flight…”

There was a short pause on both ends, then more babbling, followed by, “Awesome! Thanks, dude!” Alfred hung up on the annoying airline representative and came out of the room with a ridiculously triumphant grin on his face. Arthur couldn’t help but smile at that. “So, what was that all about?” he played dumb, grinning.

“Just another cancellation, is all. You know how unpredictable airlines can be, these days.” Alfred smiled, a dazzling gleam in his sapphire eyes. Arthur’s heart fluttered with joy. “Come here, you git,” he pulled Alfred into a tight hug. After one final squeeze they parted and smiled at each other before Alfred leaned down and kissed Arthur on the lips.

He’d never been so happy about a cancellation.


End file.
